Life Is Pain
by nek0manc3r
Summary: "Life is only pain. Might as well try and get used to it." Stan's life is spiraling out of control. He tries to deal, but are things really going to get better for him? Goth!Stan, whumpage, elements of Style and rarepair-StanxMichael. Trigger warnings for self-harm, underaged smoking/drinking and an abusive relationship. Slightly OOC/AU. T for swearing and dark themes. May change
1. Chapter 1

**so here's the usual stuff**

 **-I don't own south park**

 **-I don't own the cover art and don't know the artist, credit to them though**

 **-this is kind of an AU and I'm prolly mixing up episode dates but it's okay it's fiction so it don't have to matter riiight?**

 **anyhow, enjoy~**

* * *

"Just chill out."

"I'm sorry, I can't help it. I hate needles..."

"So you just gonna sit there like a woos?"

"N-No..."

"Good, then chill the fuck out."

Stan took a deep breath. Michael was right, he had to suck it up and deal with the pain if he was going to go through with this. Life was nothing but pain anyway, right? Might as well try and get used to it.

"Just hold still," the jeweler said as he aligned the needle gun to Stan's ear. The athlete went rigid underneath him and gripped the chair tightly.

In a flash, a quick sharp pain shot through his ear and he squeezed the life out of the chair's arms to keep from jerking away.

The same process was repeated to the other ear, and the sting it left behind burned his head and he breathed slowly, releasing the air he didn't realize he was keeping in.

"There, you're all done."

Stan opened his eyes. Michael was smiling as he held up a small mirror in front of the other. "Looks nice."

Stan stared at his new self in the mirror. Michael had already put eyeliner on him. His hair was shaggier than usual. And now thick, cross-shaped earrings hung on his ears. He really did look the part of a goth.

"Good job, now we just need to get you some cigarettes and some coffee and you'll be all set," the other male encouraged him.

Stan twitched his nose at the thought of smoking. He didn't want to be a smoker _and_ a drinker. Slightly groaning, he answered. "Fine."

* * *

On the walk home, Stan was wheezing the life out of his throat after he had tried his first cigarette. He pretended to like it to fit in with the others, and held back his rigid coughs until he could be alone. His mind felt cloudy and his stomach felt sick as soon as he stuck the cancer stick in his mouth. Inhaling that was seriously not one of his better ideas. The hot coffee didn't help, either. How the hell did those kids do that every day?

Sighing, Stan stopped for a moment to put his back against a brick wall. He wasn't even sure what he was doing, and whether or not whatever he was doing was helpful or harmful. Truly, he knew his relationship with Wendy was slipping for a long time. It just especially bothered him that she wouldn't even tell him why she dumped him, and she didn't even do it herself. She had sent a friend to do it for her. And she was already with another male. Meaning she probably never loved him in the first place.

And then there was Kyle. His best friend, his everything, now that Wendy was out of the picture. The redhead obviously did not approve of Stan's choice. And in times like this, Kyle was honestly never very supportive. They'd been fighting a lot lately and Stan couldn't understand why. Just more pain. Is it ever gonna end?

When he felt cold rain drops hit his skin, he knew he had to hurry home.

He really hoped his parents weren't there.

* * *

Of course they were.

"Stanley, what in God's name have you done to yourself?!" Sharon was horrified the minute she laid eyes on her son.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Randy asked, obviously not pleased with him, either.

Stan sighed, eyes on the floor. He should've expected this sort of thing. How would the other goth kids handle this?

"Why do you care?" He asked emotionlessly.

"What?" his mother was taken aback out of anger and also concern at the same time.

"Because your mother worked hard to push your body out of her body and you can't just do stuff like that!" Randy answered, earning an eye-roll from both Sharon and Stan.

"Randy," the woman complained. "Why don't you just go upstairs?"

"No, Sharon! I'm not just gonna let my kid turn into some little bitchy goth kid!"

You already have, Stan thought bitterly.

"Randy!" His mother argued. "Why do you always have to be so damn arrogant?!"

And an argument broke out, as usual. Stan took that opportunity to go upstairs to his room, shutting the door behind him.

* * *

The arguing continued for what seemed like hours. Stan was getting sick of it. He could hear his mother and father spewing out awful words to each other. He tried putting on his music, Grateful Dead, and covering his head with his pillow. It didn't help. He angrily threw his pillow across the room and sat up.

He'd give nothing more than to tell his parents to just shut the fuck up. At this point he wondered why they didn't just split and get it over with, before they kill each other. It would hurt him, but he's already accepted that his parents don't feel love for each other, maybe not even for him.

He sighed, pulling his iPhone out of his pocket and scrolling through his contacts. He came across Kyle's name and felt a burn in his eyes. Before he could stop himself, he pressed the dial button.

 _"Hello?"_

"Kyle?"

 _"Yeah?"_

"...what's up?"

 _"What do you mean? You're the one who called me, what's up with you?"_ The redhead answered.

Oh. Right. "I... I don't know. Nothing."

He wanted to talk to Kyle but he didn't know what to say. He needed to talk out his problems, but he tried not to dump them on Kyle.

 _"Look at you. Look what you've become."_

 _"Your negativity is poison to me."_

Kyle's words stung to this day.

The redhead was heard sighing on the other end. _"Okay. Why are you calling me?"_

"I don't know," he repeated.

 _"Do you need something?"_

"No, I guess not."

 _"Well I gotta go, okay? I'm trying to eat dinner with my family."_

"Okay... bye."

The line went dead without another word.

Stan put his face in his hands. If he couldn't be himself around his friends, who were his friends really? He bit his lip as he took a small napkin out from his pocket with a phone number written on it. Entering the new contact in his phone. Michael.

He pressed the dial button again, and it rang for a small amount of time.

 _"Who the hell is this?"_ A deep voice came from the other end when he answered.

"Hey Michael. It's me."

 _"Stan?"_

"Yeah."

 _"Oh, hey,"_ he responded. Stan could tell he was smoking, by the sounds of him inhaling and exhaling louder than necessary.

"Hey."

 _"How do your ears feel?"_

"They don't hurt as much as they did earlier."

 _"Good. Did your folks see?"_

"Yeah."

 _"Damn what did they say?"_

"They didn't approve."

 _"They never will,"_ Michael blew out a puff of smoke. _"Stan I'm gonna tell you something. No matter what you do, your parents are going to be bitches. That's how it is for us too. They don't like the way we are. They don't even care why. So we gave up on trying to please them or whatever the fuck they want from us. There's no point. Life is pointless."_

These dark, depressing words actually comforted Stan. Michael understood him. "I hate my parents."

 _"I know. So do we."_

"Michael... how do you deal with it?"

 _"...I'll tell you. But you might not like it."_

* * *

Stan opened the door to his bedroom after talking with Michael on the phone for awhile. His words played in his mind when he explained how they dealt.

 _"Slit your wrists."_

 _"W-What?"_

 _"You heard me, woos. Slit your wrists. I know it sounds fucked up and maybe it is. But it's how we deal. Just do it. You're not a pussy, are you?"_

 _"N-No."_

 _"Then do it."_

Stan's world went still. Slit his wrists? How would that help anyone through anything? He wasn't actually going to do it, he just told Michael what he wanted to hear. There's no way he'd ever want toー

"Randy you heartless prick! You just go burn in hell, you hear me?! Burn in hell!"

"Fuck you Sharon you stuck up bitch! Stop dumping all the shit on me!"

"Everything is your fault you asshole! You've ruined this family!"

"Everything was fine until you had to give birth to those stupid ass kids! You ruined this family!"

"And whose the one who brought that on me, prick?!"

Actually, it was starting to sound nice.

"You little bitch!"

Stan was surprised by another voice suddenly come behind him and was forcefully shoved into the wall.

"Ow!" He screeched, turning around to find his angry older sister.

" _You_ made them fight _again,_ you piece of shit! I swear this family was fine until you came along."

Stan's face faltered as he put a hand to his throat as a result of the wind being knocked out of him. "It's not my fault our parents don't belong together..."

"It is your fault, _everything_ is your fault you little turd!" She raised a hand to hit him again, but he bolted to the bathroom and locked the door.

Shelley banged on the door violently, "get your shit-ass out here you little cunt!" She hissed angrily.

Stan sat down on the floor, back against the wall, covering his ears with his hands. It hurt, his ears still stung, but he didn't want to hear it.

"Fine, stay in there like a bitch! As soon as you come out you're dead, you hear me? _Dead!_ "

Stan swallowed. Shelley was gone now but he didn't move.

He just began to cry. He cried into his hands, his whole body trembling. He felt so pathetic. Weak. Helpless.

 _"You're not a pussy, are you?"_

He looked up at the counter. A sharp raid or sat still by the shower. Calling his name.

 _"No."_

 _"Then do it."_

He stood up and picked up the raiser. He put it to his wrist. His body trembling again.

No. No he can't do this... not on his wrist, anyway.

He moved it up. Rolling up his sleeve with it. He pressed the raiser to his skin. Pressed down, and sliced his forearm.

"F-Fuck," he said, the pain shooting through him instantly.

But he did it again.

 _Just do it._

He kept going. He wasn't sure how much time had passed. He snapped out of his trance when he started feeling lightheaded. He saw a frightening amount of blood on the floor.

"Shit, I took it too far," he mumbled as he scrambled to clean up the blood on the floor.

If he was going to do this, he'd have to be more careful. Maintain his control.

Somehow Michael had been right. He thought he felt better. It seemed like it at the time, anyway. It was just something he'd have to get used to, like smoking.

And pain.

 _Life is nothing but pain. Might as well try and get used to it._

* * *

 **don't ask me why I'm writing such a depressing story bc I don't know**

 **there are characters like Stan that just get whumpage**

 **I love Stan my poor little child sorry I'm doing this to you**

 **ohh one more thing I'm not for self-harm, but (if you couldn't tell already) I really like dark fics and I think it's a good element to a FICTIONAL story.**

 **don't actually cut your wrists pls it doesn't help anything**

 **so I dunno shall I continue this~?**

 **-luna**


	2. Chapter 2

**heyo, a bit of a warning for description in this chapter. it's not HORRIFYINGLY descriptive, but a little bit, enough for me to feel the need to put a little warning.**

 **you have been warned!**

* * *

Stan's eyes burned the whole next day. Whether it was from tears, or from the sunlight bouncing off the snow, or both, he wasn't sure. It wouldn't surprise him a bit if he was becoming allergic to the sunlight.

He fiddled with his pencil anxiously during class. His heart thumped painfully in his chest every time Kyle would look over at him. The first time, he could see the shock on Kyle's face. The big thick, black cross earrings were definitely noticeable. And he hardly even needed eyeliner, due to the lack of sleep and the black bags under his eyes. And his new paleness due to the large loss of blood recently. He looked nothing like himself.

Several emotions flashed in Kyle's green eyes. Horror, disgust. Stan sighed as he tried to avoid looking at his friend. This wasn't the kind of attention he wanted from Kyle. Serves him right for wanting attention to begin with, though.

In fact, everyone in the class was peeking glances at Stan. Whispering to each other. Presumably bad things based off their body language. Stan felt himself crumbling even more. He really wanted to see Michael.

When the bell finally rang, Stan slowly stood from his chair and tiredly gathered up his things. He took his time so hopefully Kyle would be out of the room by the time he looked up. But of course when he finally tilted his chin, his dead blue eyes met Kyle's.

 _Fuck._ He thought as he couldn't look away now. Kyle was simply in shock and Stan looked blankly back at him, his eyes threatening to water and it wasn't until his arms started to shake with exhaustion from blood loss and the weight of his books where he excused himself from the classroom, walking past the redhead with no words spoken.

He was kind of glad Kyle hadn't said anything.

* * *

Stan had been sitting alone during lunch the past couple of days. Today he finally decided to join the other goths at their location. He didn't even have a lunch, but he stopped caring. He went out to the back to be greeted by Michael and Henrietta.

"Hey Raven, grab a smoke and have a seat," Michael said, pulling an unlit cigar from his pocket and offering it to Stan.

Sighing, he took it and took a seat next to Michael against the brick wall, across from Henrietta. "Where's Pete and Firkle?"

"Ahh, they ain't here. Puking up their guts or something."

"Oh..."

"Well that's just another reason to starve yourself, isn't it?" Michael said in all seriousness.

"Disgusting," Henrietta rolled her eyes as she inhaled a bit of her pipe. "You could have just said they were sick."

"Whatever," the oldest said before blowing a puff in her direction. "So Raven. You try things out?"

Stan had just been dully staring at the cigarette as he looked up. "What?"

"What we talked about on the phone." Michael explained as he took Stan's hand and lit the cigarette for him. "You remember?"

"Oh.. that."

"Yeah. What did you think?"

"It hurt...," Stan said as he looked at the now lit cigar between his fingers, as if contemplating all his life choices in that one moment. Remembering the looks of disgust thrown his way all morning, he continued before inhaling the cigarette smoke. "But I would do it again."

Michael smiled at him. "Good boy."

* * *

At his locker, Stan was fumbling with his books uncoordinatedly. He felt weak from the blood loss and his arms were suffering from the aftermath. If he was going to do that again, he'd be more careful and not get carried away. Or at least find somewhere else to cut. Coughing the last of the smoke out of his lungs, he slammed his locker shut and was startled by the redhead who was standing behind him.

Stan backed against the metal loudly, and took a deep breath as he looked off to the side, feeling insanely uncomfortable.

"Hey Kyle...," he said in a low voice.

Kyle's eyes were angryー great, he saw that coming, his small hands fisted at his sides.

"Stan... what the _hell_ are you doing?"

 _Good question,_ Stan thought. Kyle was starting to sound like his parents. Nothing good could come from that right now.

"What do you mean?" Stan deadpanned, his emotionless eyes staring Kyle down. "Just getting my books."

"Not that," Kyle snapped. "What are you doing with your fucking life?!"

Stan mentally flinched at the words, but he remained quiet and took the verbal beating.

"Have you _looked_ in a damn mirror? You look _horrible_!" Kyle continued. "How can you do this to yourself? You really think this is helping anything?"

Stan's black bangs covered his eyes. "Do _you_ think _you're_ helping?"

"Excuse me?"

Sighing, Stan turned his head. "Nothing."

"I don't understand you, Stan. You have no fucking clue how good you have it compared to other kids. Just think aboutー" Kyle cut himself off when he noticed an odd smell in the air. An odd smell, but easily recognizable. His brows furrowed suspiciously as he glared daggers at his friend.

"Stan... have you... been _smoking_?" He asked quietly, the disapproval clear in his voice.

Stan said nothing as he only continued to look down at the floor tiredly. His lack of response confirmed his suspicion.

"Oh my God." Kyle said, shaking his head and taking a step back. " _Un-_ believable. Don't you have _any_ idea how _sick_ this is...?" He asked. He wasn't yelling. But his tone was dripping in disgust. Stan wasn't sure which one was worse.

If Kyle thought this lowly of him now, he didn't even want to know how he'd react to the cutting if he found out.

Kyle's voice was slowly being tuned out by more voices in his head.

 _Disgusting. Pathetic. Horrible._

Yeah. That's all he was now.

As much as he was missing his razor blade. Kyle could never find out about the cutting. _Never._

* * *

At some point class had started and Kyle and Stan had to go their separate ways for the day. Stan didn't say a word the whole rest of the conversation, much to Kyle's dismay. Part of the redhead's mind nagged him for being so harsh, but as far as he was concerned it was the only way to get the stupid idea out of Stan's damn head.

Little did he know he was only pushing Stan further into a pit of despair and was definitely _not_ helping.

Walking home from school in the cold winter air hours later, he looked up at his home and saw Shelley in her bedroom window. Still terrified of facing the wrath of his abusive older sister, He sat by the edge of the house outside until he sees her leave. His family liked to disappear a lot, and lately Stan basked in their absence. Being alone was much more appealing nowadays, nobody could hurt you that way, after all.

Part of him hoped he'd get a call from Kyle. But he knew he wouldn't. He gave up on calling Kyle, too. He would probably just hang up instantly.

He couldn't entirely blame Kyle for what he said, it was all true. Stan knew he shouldn't be doing what he was doing but he wasn't strong enough to pull himself out of it, not on his own. But there was nobody to hear his screams. Nobody to take his hand and pull him out of the black pit that was slowly consuming his soul.

He wouldn't be surprised if Kyle ended up disowning him altogether. Kyle was popular, he was smart and had good looks. But Stan was becoming something nobody would want to be seen with. He was surprised Kyle even spoke to him at all today, even if it was harsh.

Hearing the back door open and close, Stan paced himself into the warm house. Stupidly enough he hadn't worn a jacket and he hadn't realized how cold he was until he got inside. Had he sat there any longer he might've froze to death without even realizing it. Maybe he shouldn't have gotten up...

But he did, because he had to use his razor again. He just had to. He didn't care if it hurt, or made him weak. He was becoming addicted to what seemed like an escape. He stumbled to the bathroom and rolled up his sleeves, pressing the razor to his upper arm again and pressing down.

And he did it again to his other arm. He could hear Michael's voice in his head.

 _"Don't be a bitch. Man up, you little pussy. Just deal with it the way we're supposed to."_

When he eventually stopped, he took a deep breath and sat down on the floor in exhaustion. His blood was painting the floor as he ran down his pale, skinny arms. He reached for a cloth to clean it up, but instead paused and pulled out his phone. He snapped a picture of the horrifying scene, along with the new fresh cuts on his arm. He sent them to Michael.

 _Are you proud of me?_ He texted him.

A few minutes later, Michael wrote back.

 _Very proud Raven. Good boy._

The morbid praise made Stan smile only a bit as he proceeded to clean the bathroom and delete the images from his phone. He wrapped himself up in gauze and then headed for his bedroom, flopping down onto the bed. Peeking over at his nightstand, he stared sadly at the frame that contained a picture of him and Kyle at SeaWorld. He smiled at the memory but it slowly faded as he recalled their last conversation.

Quirking his lip, Stan turned his head. He should get a picture of him and Michael and put it there instead.

* * *

 **yeah this is fucked up and tbh its only gonna get worse before it gets better**

 **I only advise you to keep reading if you're like me and like dark stories with happy endings**

 **but thank you for the reviews,** **Southparkreader873, angeliesrrn, untitled1234 and Dukali** **I'm glad you guys are liking my story :D**

 **tbc!**


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